How the interval of suspense to which I was now condemned might have affected other men in my position,
I cannot pretend to say. The influence of the two hours' probation upon my temperament was simply
this. I felt physically incapable of remaining still in any one place, and morally incapable of speaking to
any one human being, until I had first heard all that Ezra Jennings had to say to me.

In this frame of mind, I not only abandoned my contemplated visit to Mrs. Ablewhite -- I even shrank
from encountering Gabbriel Betteredge himself.

Returning to Frizinghall, I left a note for Betteredge, telling him that I had been unexpectedly called away
for a few hours, but that he might certainly expect me to return towards three o'clock in the afternoon. I
requested him, in the interval, to order his dinner at the usual hour, and to amuse himself as he pleased.
He had, as I well knew, hosts of friends in Frizinghall; and he would be at no loss how to fill up his time
until I returned to the hotel.

This done, I made the best of my way out of the town again, and roamed the lonely moorland country
which surrounds Frizinghall, until my watch told me that it was time, at last, to return to Mr. Candy's
house.

I found Ezra Jennings ready and waiting for me.

He was sitting alone in a bare little room, which communicated by a glazed door with a surgery. Hideous
coloured diagrams of the ravages of hideous diseases decorated the barren buffcoloured walls. A bookcase
filled with dingy medical works, and ornamented at the top with a skull, in place of the customary bust; a
large deal table copiously splashed with ink; wooden chairs of the sort that are seen in kitchens and
cottages; a threadbare drugget in the middle of the floor; a sink of water, with a basin and waste-pipe
roughly let into the wall, horribly suggestive of its connection with surgical operations -- comprised the
entire furniture of the room. The bees were humming among a few flowers placed in pots outside the
window; the birds were singing in the garden, and the faint intermittent jingle of a tuneless piano in some
neighbouring house forced itself now and again on the ear. In any other place, these everyday sounds
might have spoken pleasantly of the everyday world outside. Here, they came in as intruders on a silence
which nothing but human suffering had the privilege to disturb. I looked at the mahogany instrument
case, and at the huge roll of lint, occupying places of their own on the bookshelves, and shuddered
inwardly as I thought of the sounds, familiar and appropriate to the everyday use of Ezra Jennings' room.

`I make no apology, Mr. Blake, for the place in which I am receiving you,' he said. `It is the only room in
the house, at this hour of the day, in which we can feel quite sure of being left undisturbed. Here are my
papers ready for you; and here are two books to which we may have occasion to refer, before we have
done. Bring your chair to the table, and we shall be able to consult them together.'

I drew up to the table; and Ezra Jennings handed me his manuscript notes. They consisted of two large
folio leaves of paper. One leaf contained writing which only covered the surface at intervals. The other
presented writing, in red and black ink, which completely filled the page from top to bottom. In the irritated
state of my curiosity, at that moment, I laid aside the second sheet of paper in despair.

`Have some mercy on me!' I said. `Tell me what I am to expect, before I attempt to read this.'

`Willingly, Mr. Blake! Do you mind my asking you one or two more questions?'

`Ask me anything you like!'

He looked at me with the sad smile on his lips, and the kindly interest in his soft brown eyes.

`You have already told me,' he said, `that you have never -- to your knowledge -- tasted opium in your life.'